


Capgras

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's FebuWhump 2021 Oneshots [12]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Capgras Syndrome, Delusions, FebuWhump2021, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mistaken Identity, POV Foggy Nelson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29606058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: FebuWhump 2021 Day 12: ["Who are you?"]He reached out, cupped his face, staring into vacant eyes. When he rubbed one bristly cheek with his thumb, Matt’s eyes fluttered shut.“Who are you?” he whispered.“I’m Matt Murdock.” came the reply.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: MissMoochy's FebuWhump 2021 Oneshots [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136714
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	Capgras

**Author's Note:**

> _Capgras delusion is a psychiatric disorder in which a person holds a delusion that a friend, spouse, parent, or other close family member (or pet) has been replaced by an identical impostor._ \- Wikipedia

Matt Murdock died.

Foggy knows this.

He witnessed the whole thing. He remembers the day.

Karen brought in coffee for the three of them. Matt was wearing a black suit and a silk tie. A rich crimson, knotted around his throat. 

Karen was wearing her hair up, held in place at the crown of her head with a barrette. A few strands at the front had escaped the coiffure and were now curling around her face.

And they heard the sirens. The air was thick with noise, wailing sirens and car alarms, clatters and crashes. Matt had stiffened. Leapt up. His face was tight with raw terror. He’d said, “I think we should—”

And then the screaming started.

* * *

Seconds. It took seconds to decimate the earth. Bodies crumpling to dust, cars crashed as their drivers slumped forward on the wheel. People screamed as their husbands, wives and children disintegrated before their eyes.

And Foggy clutched Matt to his chest, screamed as his skin broke apart. Like sand. A big crater in his chest that was getting bigger. And then, he was holding onto nothing, dust trickling between his fingers. Gumming up his eyes. It covered his suit, his hands, the floor. Matt.

And Karen screamed and they grabbed at each other, hugged each other in the new, chaotic world of sirens and dust and squealing tyres. And the world didn’t right itself for some time.

People adjusted because they had to. No other choice. But it was a different world now. Half the population had died overnight and the global leaders were reeling. Everybody was panicking. If Foggy hadn’t had his family and Karen, he thinks he would have killed himself. But they needed him and he needed them. They were marooned survivors, clinging to the same piece of driftwood. He wasn’t what they were heading towards.

* * *

He dreamed of him. Remembered little details about him over the course of the days. It was like being sick, something heavy and stuffy that settles in your lungs. Influenza. Fills your head, messes with your body’s internal clock and the days sort of meld into one big chunk of time.

But he had things to do. He had to find a new job. Had to make sure Karen was eating. There were so many people who needed help and he had a lot of free time on his hands. 

* * *

Five years. 

That’s how long it took.

Five years.

And then they came back.

The air was thick once more, but with excitement and joy. Friends were reunited, families hugged. People left work early to rush home and see if their spouse or child was sitting on their couch, waiting for them.

* * *

He didn’t dare hope for Matt to return. There didn’t seem to be any point. Matt wasn’t like anybody. He was an outlier. A lawyer who broke the law. He was a collection of concepts, bundled together by silken ropes. And he was lost. Forever.

But then, Karen called him.

All she said was _“Foggy…”_ when he picked up. But he knew. Just knew. Her voice. He asked her where she was. She told him to come to the park. DeWitt Park. Clinton. He showered in a daze, dressed hurriedly, his fingers struggled with the buttons. He felt like he was getting dressed for his wedding day. His reflection stared back at a stranger. Dull hair that didn’t see the sunlight. Tired eyes. More wrinkles, five years older. He’d cut his hair. He wondered what _he_ would think when Foggy walked up to them. 

* * *

He reached the park and scouted out the bench where she said they would be. He spotted them in the distance, the profile of two people and his heart jittered in his chest. Karen’s golden hair was spilling down her back, visible even at this distance. And him. There he was. Sitting sedately, one hand on her arm. Sunglasses and coat, high collar covering his chin. Foggy swallowed, fluttered hands around his lapels, straightened his suit. Now or never.

Karen saw him and she leapt up, waved her arms like she was flagging down a taxi. “Foggy! He’s back! Look!”

Matt’s head turned towards him.

And that unlocked the bundle of tension in his chest. He ran over grass, coat streaming behind him, not caring if he looked stupid, not looking where he was going, slipping on dewy grass.

He reached them and his breath left him in a rush.

Karen beamed at him, looking too young in a mauve beanie hat. But Matt…

“Is this a joke?” Foggy muttered and both of them frowned.

It was Matt. But see, it wasn’t.

He was handsome. Pale, his broad nose tinged pink by the cold. Full lips, slightly parted. Heavy brows frowning over blood-red sunglasses.

But he wasn’t Matt

His face didn’t look right. It was nothing that Foggy could confidently pin down. There was no missing scar or freckle. The eyes were the same dizzying shade of brown-green that always made Foggy’s heart race.

No, it wasn’t one individual feature. He’d studied each one, blatantly staring at the imposter, willing him to stare back just so the two of them could drop this pretence.

But his face. It was mixed-up in some way. Like when you see a photograph of yourself and it looks wrong. We spend our whole lives seeing a flipped version of our face, in the glass of a mirror. And then when you see a photograph of yourself, you realise what other people see when they gaze at you. And it looks _wrong._ Maybe this new Matt was flipped in some way. Foggy was going to get to the bottom of it, even if it killed him. And perhaps murder was the imposter’s intended goal. Nobody would go to that much trouble to keep up a ruse unless they were planning something sinister.

“Matt?” Foggy whispered and Matt rose fluidily, with his usual grace. Walked silently on the grass, his cane swinging on a strap around his arm. Threw both arms around him. Tight grip, hard arms. Felt like him. He’d had so many dirty thoughts around those arms wrapping around him. Matt pulled him into his bulk, Foggy snuggled against a wall of muscle. Matt’s hand absently patted his hair. Foggy let it happen, as if he was watching a movie. It felt like him. It felt just like him. But when he risked a glance at Matt’s smiling face, fear flooded his veins. He didn’t know who this guy was but he was not Matt Murdock.

* * *

Karen was delighted, as were Foggy’s family. Even Brett mustered up a smile. It felt physically wrong to see ‘Matt’ hugging Foggy’s loved ones. Every time Matt got reintroduced to somebody that he’d previously known, Foggy scanned their reaction. Anything. Just a glimmer of doubt as they looked at Matt’s face. But there was nothing. Foggy’s mom cried, clutching Matt so tightly. His father patted him on the back and beamed. Everybody was so happy. Not just their little neighbourhood. The whole world was rejoicing, everybody celebrating their loved ones mysteriously returning. Foggy felt cheated. It was sick. Everybody got them back. Their siblings, spouses, friends and children. But he was given this imposter. This strange-faced simulacrum, who could flawlessly imitate Matt’s voice, his mannerisms. When Foggy looked away or turned his back. He could trick himself into believing that Matt had truly come back. But one glimpse of that awful face and he knew the truth.

He made a grievous error. He told Karen. He’d thought she could keep a fucking secret but clearly, her judgment was clouded when Matt (or Matt-lookalikes) were involved.

He asked her to meet him. Alone. He had to clarify that, because she’d immediately said she’d bring Matt. 

He sat with her in a cafe, and hated to admit that she looked much better. Her hair was brighter, her skin was clearer and the dullness in her eyes was completely eradicated. Perhaps, she’d mourned Matt harder than he had. He had a big family, a wide circle of support. Who did she have? Ghosts and memories.

But now, Matt was in her apartment. Karen had decided he would stay with her while they got everything sorted out for him. He’d been legally dead for five years. His apartment was no longer his, all his possessions were either boxed up or sold. Karen had hoarded a lot of Matt’s possessions. She gleefully told Foggy how happy Matt was that his Daredevil costume had been saved.

He sat across from her, watching steam spiral over the level surface of her macchiato coffee and had said, It’s not him,”

“What?”

“It’s not Matt.”

Karen stared at him, bug-eyed. “What? No, it’s — it’s him—”

“I’m telling you,” he said firmly. “It’s _not._ It’s...somebody else.”

Karen stared at him for a long moment. Finally, she said, “Why? What makes you think it’s not him?”

He looked away. “It’s a feeling. I look at him and he’s...wrong."

“Wrong? How?”

“It — it’s a feeling! God, you want me to explain a feeling! I’m following my instincts!”

“Yes, I want you to explain it! Foggy, that’s a really serious claim! You’re a lawyer, you’re supposed to analyse things, not just—”

“Don’t talk about my work, you don’t know what we’re dealing with—”

“Neither do you! You’ve spent one afternoon with him and you’re saying he’s a ghost or something.”

“Not a ghost,” he hissed. “An imposter.”

“You’re being ridiculous. You need to spend some time with him. Please?”

He couldn’t refuse her.

* * *

He hadn’t been to Karen’s apartment in months. He familiarised himself with the soft furnishings, the scent of her perfume in the air. But there were signs of Matt’s cohabitation. A cane leaning against the wall. Two glasses of water on the coffee table. Matt’s shoes by the door.

He sat on her couch, smiling stiffly as she fussed around, setting down drinks and folding up a throw that she draped over the back of the chair. He heard footsteps. There he was, lingering in the doorway. Karen bustled into the kitchen, leaving them alone.

Matt must have just showered, his hair was still damp, his bangs curling on his forehead. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses and his eyes looked soft.

“Hi, Foggy,”

“Hey,”

“Mind if I join you?”

“It’s a free country.”

Matt shuffled over and settled down on the couch beside him, sitting a few inches closer than Foggy would have preferred. He scowled down at the denim legs, the bare feet. 

He could hear Karen clattering about in the next room and he desperately wished he could telepathically summon her, just to kill this tension.

“So,” Matt said, and Foggy had to look at him. Rude not to. 

He kept hoping that he’d look at him and it would all click together. When you buy some new item and it comes with so many parts and you’re trying to slot it together. And then it clicks. Everything makes sense.

But this wasn’t Matt. He couldn’t tell how he knew, he just...he was certain.

“So?” That was safe, right. That wouldn’t tip him off that Foggy was onto him.

“Karen says you don’t believe it’s really me,” Matt said mildly. “You think I’ve been replaced with an imposter.”

Fuck. “You know Karen. Active imagination, that one.”

“Foggy. Come on.”

“I —” 

“You know it’s me. I know it was hard for you. And for her. And I know it’s been… Things have been strange since I came back. Since we all came back.” The man turned to him, earnest eyes that could fool anybody except Matt Murdock’s oldest friend. “I want us to get back to how we were. You, me, Karen.” He nudged him with his elbow. Foggy wanted to shove him away. _“Nelson, Murdock & Page?” _

“We can’t,” he said shortly.

“Oh,” Matt said. “Okay.”

“I have a job now, I’m working at this firm, Hogarth—” _Don’t tell him anything._ "—and Karen is doing freelance stuff and we’re...we’re coping. The world lost half its population. It was bedlam, Matt. Absolute panic, you have no idea. And we had to figure stuff out pretty quickly. We lost half our global leaders. We lost paramedics, police, everybody just… And the streets.” He blinked back tears, swallowed thickly, tasting mucus. “The streets were thick with dust. The — the bodies, the corpses, they all turned to dust. And it was everywhere and it was like being in the desert. You couldn’t take a breath without it filling your fucking lungs.”

“Must have been tough,” Matt said softly. Such an impotent statement, it hung in the air like a cloud of flies. Tough. Tough? Understatement, Murdock.

“Yeah,” he muttered, as Karen came into view, bearing a tray of food. “Tough. Yeah, it was… very tough.”

* * *

The evening passed calmly, until the very end. Karen was in a chatty mood, was in a chatty mood, it was pleasant to see. She remained glued to Matt's side relaying every piece of news from the previous five years. 

Matt smiled and nodded, picked at chips and dip and seemed to take in what she was saying. But Foggy felt watched. No matter what he did, whether it was reaching for another chip or discreetly checking the time on his phone, he felt Matt's stare. Yes, Matt, the real Matt, was blind. But this guy wasn't. Sure, he was a good actor. He took care not to let his gaze settle on any specific item or connect with the eyes of Karen or Foggy. But he seemed unable to tear his face away from Foggy's direction. 

With Karen sat between them, she provided a buffer. He didn't think he could handle feeling Matt's leg pressed against his — or the warmth of his body beside him. It was a cruel joke, watching that familiar mouth shape out words. Hearing that voice, the one that haunted his dreams. 

He excused himself and locked himself in Karen's cramped bathroom. 

He examined his reflection in the mirror, splashed cold water on his hair, tried to think up an excuse to leave. It would look suspicious, no matter what he did.

He heard a knock on the bathroom door.

"Karen?"

"It's me." A decidedly masculine voice. Foggy knew the imposter was committed to imitating Matt in every way, for reasons unknown. He knew the imposter was too smart, too careful to do something as foolish as attack Foggy or break down the door. He knew all of that, but he was still frightened. He glanced around the room hunting for a possible weapon — if it came to that. But there was nothing. Of course, there was nothing. 

"Open the door? Please?"

He opened it and backed away. Matt slipped in. 

He wasted no time on small talk. "You're scared of me. Your heart is too fast. Frantic. You smell like — like fear. Foggy, I don't want you to be afraid. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. It's different now. "

It _is_ different. But not in the way that he means. 

Matt moved forward, eagerly. Like a big dumb puppy expecting hugs. Foggy scanned his face, for something. A chink in his armour? Some little imperfection, some little detail that the imposter had got wrong. But he’d spent so many years staring dopily at that face, he could recall every blemish, every freckle and scar. This was a flawless imitation.

He reached out, cupped his face, staring into vacant eyes. When he rubbed one bristly cheek with his thumb, Matt’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“I’m Matt Murdock.” came the reply.

* * *

He followed Matt back to the couch and they resumed the conversation. Karen had seized upon a discussion that Foggy didn’t like, she began telling Matt about Foggy’s work with Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz. He tried to discreetly signal to her to be quiet, but she barrelled on. Finally, he had enough.

“Karen, I don’t think we should be talking about this right now,”

“Why?”

“I know why,” Matt said, and he sounded smug to Foggy’s ears. “He’s convinced I’m an imposter, right? Some corporate spy from a rival firm maybe?”

Foggy glowered at him, but he had raised an interesting question. What _was_ the imposter’s motivation for assuming Matt’s identity? Perhaps there was a way of obtaining the information. Get the imposter’s trust…

“Foggy, we’re going to settle this. Matt, we’re going to do a little test. Don’t worry, it’s painless.”

Matt waited placidly. His eyes were wide and dark, like the night’s sky. Beautiful. He was a convincing fake, Foggy would give him that.

Karen handed him her cellphone. “Check his pupils.”

Foggy snatched it off her, barely concealing his irritation. “Fine.”

He knelt down beside the man masquerading as his friend. He was close enough that he could count every blade of stubble, he could spot the faint white scars dotted on his nose and around the thin skin of his eyelids. When Foggy switched the flashlight button on, Matt didn’t react.

Foggy leant in and Matt did, too. Close enough to kiss. Matt’s two front teeth dug into the flesh of his lip, he was nervous. Probably afraid he was going to be caught red-handed.

He swept the beam of light over Matt’s eyes. He didn’t flinch or squint. And no, his pupils didn’t dilate.

Karen was leaning over Foggy, her hair falling down like a curtain. She ripped the phone out of his hands. “Do you see? Do you finally get it?”

“Oh my God…” Foggy muttered. The imposter had _blinded_ himself. This was… This was terrifying. He knew this guy was dedicated, but dedicated enough to mutilate yourself? This ventured far beyond espionage. This was a chilling conspiracy and Foggy was stuck in the middle of it. And he was the only one who knew the truth.

He patted Matt’s knee for Karen’s benefit. He had to ensure she didn’t discover the truth — her ignorance was the only thing protecting her. It repulsed him to touch him. “Sorry, buddy,” he said lightly. “I must have been wrong. I can clearly see you’re the real McCoy.”

Karen let out a relieved sigh and muttered “Told you,” on her way to the kitchen. Matt didn’t smile. He was frowning.

* * *

After Karen’s flashlight test, Foggy doubted that he’d be able to convince her of the truth. She wanted so desperately to believe that Matt had returned. She saw what she wanted to see. Peraren's flashlight test, he doubted that he'd be able to convince her of the truth. She wanted so desperately to believe that Matt had returned. 

He avoided her calls. Left most of her texts unopened. Apparently, Matt had kept telling her he wanted to resurrect Nelson, Murdock & Page. She supported the idea and wanted to know how Foggy felt about it. He knew Matt was still living with her and presumably, she was helping him get his life back on track. Help him get his documents, find a job and a place to live. He knew he shouldn’t leave her alone with the imposter, but he didn’t know what else to do. The man terrified him.

She sent him another text, telling him that Matt was getting back to his Daredevil work. She said he’d been delighted to discover that Karen had held onto his Daredevil costume all these years. Foggy thought of him, the dull-eyed imposter patrolling the streets — and he shivered.

‘Matt’ came to visit him that very night.

* * *

Foggy was lying in bed, attempting sleep, when he heard a knock on his bedroom window. He shot up out of bed, groped around for something to use to defend himself. All he had was his alarm clock, but he grabbed it all the same. When he flicked open the blinds, he saw the ghoulish red face of Daredevil. 

If he didn’t let him in… Daredevil could get inside if he truly wanted.

With that in mind, he opened the window to see Matt standing on his fire escape.

"We need to talk," Matt said, sounding strangely breathless. Foggy stepped back, to let him in. 

He eyed the billy club with some apprehension. He wouldn't be any good against this guy in a fight. But the imposter hadn't shown a desire for violence. Yet. 

"I don't know why I'm here," Matt said, gesturing listlessly at...nothing in particular. "Don't know what I can do to convince you. Don't know why I care."

"You don't care about me,"

"Don't. Don't question what I feel — you don't know anything!"

"Then help me understand! Come on, man, it's just you and me. No Karen, no Brett. So, tell me. What do you get out of this?"

"Get out of what?"

Foggy said nothing. 

“Oh, God, you still think I'm an imposter. So, that's why you've been screening Karen's calls! Why don’t you believe it’s really me? Come on, Fogs, you know me—”

“Don’t call me that! Don’t act like we’re friends! I hate you. You’re evil. You’re wearing his face and you’re using his voice and it’s sick!”

Matt shook his head incredulously. “It’s really me. I don’t know what I can say to convince you. I know it must have been terrifying for you, to lose me—”

“I didn’t lose you! I lost Matt Murdock!”

Matt bared his teeth, balled his hands into fists. There it was, that simmering rage. Boiling in his veins, swilling through the capillaries and pushing against the skin. _Go on,_ Foggy thought. _Hit me. I know you want to._ “I _am_ Matt Murdock.”

Foggy spat at him and the globule of saliva splattered on Matt’s chest. As if he needed further proof that this was an imposter. Matt had lightning-quick reflexes and would have dodged it, surely. “You’re _nothing._ I lost Matt! I watched him die! He turned to dust, it was on my fingers and in my hair — I fucking _mourned—”_

When Matt grabbed him by the collar and threw him against the wall, he was expecting a punch. His skull cracked against the wall, rang with pain and Matt bore down on him, fists curling in Foggy’s t-shirt.

“I’m—” Matt said and broke off. He slumped against Foggy, rested his forehead on his. Sour breath drifted on Foggy’s face. “—I am so fucking tired of having to do the right thing all the time. Denying myself the things I want. You want Matt Murdock? I’ll give you Matt Murdock.”

When he kissed him, it hurt. Hard teeth smashing into his mouth, crushing his lips. Pulling Foggy’s fat lower lip in between two rows of teeth and sucking on it hard.

He knew it was wrong. Fucking this guy would be like desecrating his late friend's memory. But this man. He looked like Matt, smelt like Matt. When he pinned him to the wall, it felt like Matt.

Matt was rough. He liked to use his hands, rub them all over Foggy’s body, spreading the sweat. Left reddened finger marks burning on the skin. He sucked bruises on his neck, his hip, his thigh. Licked him all over, savoured the taste and then dove back for more, his bent head over Foggy’s lap. Neither of them lasted long, and when it was over and they were panting, and feeling chilled in their nakedness, Matt delighted in smearing their come over their bodies. 

They left their clothes in a messy pile on the floor and retired to bed. Rolled on the sheet and arranged their limbs comfortably, pulled the covers up. Matt’s fury was as dead as an ember, he was now giddy and giggling, stroking Foggy’s face in the dark and winding strands of hair around his fingers. But he soon settled and slept with his head on Foggy’s chest.

Foggy listened to Matt snuffle where he slept on his chest, his breath tickling his chest hair. He ran a lazy hand over his hot, scarred back. He wasn’t under any illusions. He knew that this man was an imposter. But he no longer feared him. This man wasn’t to be trusted. But he had a vulnerable side that Foggy could exploit. The things they’d done, that level of emotion couldn’t be faked. The imposter must have developed some sort of fascination with Foggy. And it would be his undoing. 

* * *

As morning crept over the Manhattan skyline, Foggy sat and waited for his lover to wake up. The room was bathed in the pale blue light. Matt's naked body was awash in it.

Matt groaned, stirring in his sleep. Foggy watched him as he murmured, his fingers twitching on the blanket. Finally, he cracked open his eyes. His dull eyes didn’t focus on one point in particular, but he must have sensed Foggy’s presence because he greeted him.

“Foggy?” His voice was low and rough with sleep.

“Right here, Matt,” Foggy said quietly. The second Matt heard his voice, his lips stretched into a grin.

“Hey, how about last night? I guess you finally realised I’m the real deal?”

“Something like that,”

It was then that Matt stretched, the muscles in his arms flexing. He must have realised the rope because he frowned. “Did you — did you tie me up?”

Foggy raised an eyebrow. “Who else would do that? The Tooth Fairy?”

Matt tested the ropes around his wrists, pulling gently. “Kinky. If you wanted me gagged and bound, you only had to ask.”

Foggy sighed, dropped down onto the foot of the bed, his legs hanging over the side. “No. I couldn’t.”

A beat. Then — 

“Foggy. Untie me.”

“You know I can’t do that. The moment I let you out of that bind, you’re going to shoot me or stab me—” 

“Fog, this is ridiculous—”

“Stop. Seriously. It’s bad enough that you’ve taken his identity, now you’re trying to steal his best friend.”

“You are my best friend,” Matt babbled. “You’re more than that. God, Foggy, you’re everything. You’re the only thing that makes sense anymore. So, can you please just untie me and we can get back to — to whatever we’ve got going, here?”

“You were good. In bed,” Foggy said, “You were! You — it actually felt like making love.”

Matt tried to sit forward but the ropes pulled on his arms. “It _was_ making love, it mattered to me—” 

“Shut up. Just. Please. It’s killing me, even looking at you. You look wrong. You sound wrong. I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you’re not Matt Murdock.”

“Foggy...”

Foggy reached under the bed. Earlier that morning, he’d prowled around the apartment, kicking aside the discarded pieces of their clothing. He'd knelt down, sifted through them. 

Ran his fingers over kevlar, and the smooth cold cowl. Hugged it to his chest and cried bitterly. It was a period of mourning. He felt a bit better now. Cool-headed. Ready to proceed.

Nestled amongst the armoured parts of clothing was the dark red billy club. He’d hefted one in his hand, felt the weight of it, tried to imagine Matt’s steady fingers wrapped around it. It was this same club that he now held with both hands.

“I love you,” Matt said desperately and Foggy froze. Those dark, blind eyes were wide, desperately trying to focus on Foggy’s face. Matt strained against the bindings, the muscles in his arms taut.“Ever since college. I didn’t know it then. I still don’t understand it. But I knew I had to be near you. And always, Foggy, ever time you spoke my name, I felt so—” 

The club smacked into his skull. Hard and fast, it made a satisfying crack as it collided with his skull. He slumped forward, vivid blood trickling down his forehead. Foggy watched him dispassionately. He felt more confident in his actions now. Of course, this was an imposter! The real Matt Murdock would never tell him he loved him. 


End file.
